A picture of regal beauty.
King Daedalus’s face is as hard as the stone this hall is carved from, giving away nothing of his emotions or thoughts. The family resemblance is strong between him and his niece, though faint shadows under his rich red-brown eyes hint at a weariness that only deepens the malice coiling in their depths.
A shiver crawls up my spine, and I turn my gaze away, looking instead toward the woman on his right. Dressed in a pleated gown of shimmering gray, Queen Atalana sits still as a statue, her figure looking as though it’s carved from marble. Long dark hair falls in carefully placed curls around her slim shoulders. Her expression is softer than the king’s, but her eyes are distant and her complexion pallid, even as she smiles down at me from her throne.
Awareness prickles the back of my neck, and I finally let my eyes drift to the last figure on the dais.
I’ve seen portraits of Prince Keres before, but seeing him in person has the air hitching in my throat. His features are a striking combination of his mother’s and father’s. Keres’s eyes are more red than brown, and mahogany hair streaked with shades of auburn falls in soft waves around a face that looks crafted by the gods themselves. His build is leaner than that of his father but still well-muscled, his jacket hugging his broad shoulders and tapering to his waist.
He’s beautiful.
The rakish smile on his face tells me he knows it too.
But there’s a cruelty to the cut of his cheekbones, venom in the curl of his lips, and a coldness in his semblance that belie the warmth of his golden skin. Beneath the glimmer of interest in his eyes, something flashes in their depths. There and gone too quickly for me to fully understand.
“Princess Aella Sotiría of the Sorrows.” King Daedalus’s voice drags my attention from the prince. “It is an honor to have our friends from across the Solorai Sea in our home, and a delight to have you join the trials.”
“The honor is all mine, Your Majesty,” I say humbly, dipping into a curtsy. My hair falls over my shoulder—an ashen veil shielding me from the judging eyes and heavy stares.
When I rise, my face is a mask, as smooth as the polished stone around me.
“My queen, Atalana.” The king gestures to his wife. “And my son, Prince Keres, who I am sure you are well aware of.”
“A pleasure, Your Majesty.” I bow my head to the queen, and she offers a small smile in return.
I look back at the prince, holding his red gaze. That same expression flashes through his eyes, and I recognize it for what it is.
Predatory.
A cat with a canary in its sight, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Little does he know; this songbird’s talons are sharp.
Calliope’s lessons echo through my mind, a spectral voice guiding me at this moment.
Some men relish the hunt. But first, you must convince them you’re worth the chase.
I let a slow smile unfurl across my lips, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. I drop my voice to a husky tone as I greet him. “Prince.”
His reaction is barely perceptible, but I watch him closely enough to notice the slight flare of his nostrils. He inclines his head ever so slightly as he responds in kind. “Princess.”
As we hold each other’s gaze—neither of us willing to relent first—I notice silence has infiltrated the hall, the gathered tycheroi holding their breath as though they’re waiting for their prince to pass judgment.
King Daedalus claps his hands, the sharp sound breaking the heavy silence in the grand hall and pulling me from my staring contest. The single commanding gesture demands everyone’s attention, and I straighten instinctively under his piercing gaze. “As part of the trials, each competitor will be assigned a mentor from our family to guide them through life at court,” he announces. “Lady Titaia will attend to you and escort you to your quarters so you may settle in.”
From the corner of my eye, I glance at the lady. She inclines her head slightly in acknowledgment, though her face remains composed and unreadable. Her posture is as poised as her expression.
With the rumors of the strained relationship between Lady Titaia and her cousin, I can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of slight. Yet, as with so many rumors, perhaps there is little truth to this one. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for your thoughtfulness and generosity,” I say, my tone measured—neutral yet respectful—resisting the urge to look at the prince again. I may need to tread a delicate balance with him, navigating somewhere between genuine interest and subtle indifference. For now I keep my focus firmly on King Daedalus.
“Since you are the last competitor to arrive, and the trials cannot be delayed, the opening ceremony will commence tomorrow evening,” he continues without acknowledging my words. “Use this time to rest while you can. You will need it for what lies ahead.”
At the clear dismissal, I give a final curtsy to the royals. My eyes seek our guide as I rise. I don’t have to look far as she steps up to my side, tilting her head toward the same doors we entered through.
Turning to the others, I gesture for Nyssa and Myna to follow. They have been waiting quietly during the entire exchange, and their faces remain impassive, though I can see the way their eyes take in every detail around us.
We make our way out of the hall, striding back down the aisle as we ignore the lingering stares that track our every move. Once we pass through the arched doors again, I can finally take a deep breath. I hold on to my composure as Titaia takes my hand and slips it through her arm, guiding me down the hall.
“That was a marvelous performance, Princess,” she says with a sly smile.
